


An Ill Fated Tale about Rosencrantz & Guildenstern

by curtangel



Category: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-07
Updated: 2007-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14349459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtangel/pseuds/curtangel
Summary: A pre-Hamlet story. Guildenstern gets married and unhappiness ensues.I suppose this could be considered an AU but Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's pre-Hamlet whereabouts aren't very clearly established.Originally posted on adult-fanfiction.orgStarted January 7, 2007 - finished  May 9, 2007Posted with minor alterations for clarityArchived 4/17/2018





	1. Don't blame the rain that brings you here

**Author's Note:**

> I feel this compulsion to explain this story. I've written and deleted multiple notes partially because I'm not sure how to explain it and partially because sometimes writing notes seems to signal that you're open to commentary or conversation about a story (I'm really not).  
> I hunted this story up with the vague idea of rewriting it (like I'm rewriting my old nanowrimo) but there was a strange sort of raw charm to it that not only do I personally like in fic sometimes, but I rarely see in Ros/Guil fics. Its not on the same level as the other two stories I've written that seem to be reasonably well liked but I could see a version of myself coming across this late at night and going "....yes...."  
> As to what happened? I don't know. Its a bit of underwriting, a bit of overwriting, extreme writing oriented anxiety and some personal stuff that was going on that all sort of came together into... this.

"It was time for him to get married." the new M'Lady said.  
  
M'Lord agreed, and yet inwardly cringed yet again at the heat of the liver that must have led him to marry a woman younger than his son.  
The banns were to be put up that morning and Guildenstern has yet to be told that he was shortly to be married.  
To be honest, the elder man was hoping his son already knew about it. Her family had come to him, and he was too polite to inquire about the reasons for their interest. The marriage was mutually beneficial, but one had to look to find it. There were some light-hearted hints that the marriage might not just be financially appropriate, but personally as well.  
He liked the idea that his son was capable of more than intellectual tricks and weaving dense and confusing verbal tapestries of philosophy. That maybe in those long times alone in his rooms, he was writing notes of love to give to a messager for his sweetheart. It would be quite natural for a family who discovers a hot love brewing to want to make it official before mistakes were made.  
He couldn't say that he really believed that, so much as he wanted to believe it. Guildenstern was not noticably physically or mentally crippled by his early birth aside from being prone to illness in early childhood and confined to bed many of his early years. Yet, his son was odd, there was no denying it.  
Guildenstern never did seem to fully recover from his early years of illness, and he still had the sallow complexion and sunken eyes of the chronically ill; most unfortunately it was mixed in with the mild plumpness of the well fed and sedentary.  
He had the potential to be attractive. It is, however, those with the fairest who are hit hardest when life begins to swing the ugly stick. If the elder man were to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that his son looked like a fresh bloated corpse.  
Guildenstern was waiting in the hall.  
"My Lord," he bowed.  
The elder gentleman sat, and motioned for his son to do the same. Guildenstern did sit, and, instead of looking at his father directly -- looked into the fire near them. His father was used to this and did not correct his rudeness.  
"Son, I have made arrangements for your marriage." His child glanced up at him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't respond. "It will work out for the benefit of all involved."  
Guildenstern turned more directly to face his father, cocking his head to the side, but still not looking at his face.  
"Did you pick her for me, father?"  
This could have been the beginning of the end, but M'Lord hid his reaction. He knew his son's nature well enough that acknowleging he didn't know the family or why the family chose to come to them would lead to further questions and possibly him attempting to stop the marriage until they were answered. Too much had been sunk into this marriage to allow him to back out.  
"Yes." He lied. "She is quite beautiful and witty. She will be an excellent match for you. I know this is sudden but it is time for you to marry and she is perfect in all respects. Love will come in time. Beautiful women are easy to love and witty women make themselves easy to love."  
Guildenstern stood and paced excitedly, turning to face his father and saying, "For you, I will use her beauty and wit as a match to light my heart. If it not find wick, then my heart be black and...without wax."  
His father shook his head and sighed. The child was idealistic enough to have the potential to be a real cynic.  
"I'm sorry, father" he finished, "I couldn't think of a good way to end that sentence."  
"Do not wish an unwicked and unwaxed heart for my sake, son." His lie was already starting to weigh upon him. "Be content. If they are to come, happiness and love will come in their own time."  
  
He made a mental note to make sure the bride and groom-to-be met as quickly as could be arranged.


	2. It reaches in and takes, from the back of your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Awkward sex, loss of virginity

They did not meet before the wedding.  
  
Indeed, they barely met at it.  
  
Many things went wrong that day. Not with the wedding, specifically. It went off without a hitch. Or, at least with the one hitch it was supposed to have. The only person that noticed anything was wrong was Guildenstern, and that wasn't until after the wedding.  
She was waiting for them in their room (her room, actually, but that came later). That was problem number one, Guildenstern would tell you. He had always imagined her coming to him, and it was a little detail, but the first of many that deviated from his mental script of how things were going to go. It threw him off.  
He had to have her giggling bridesmaids walk past him, and that gave him a moment too many to think about what they might have been talking about before the door shut behind him with a finality that he didn't like. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, but he still didn't look at her directly. He wanted to see her just right. He stood at the door a few moments, listening to the footsteps walk away and down the stairs. He did not want to take the chance that someone might be staying behind. But there was no tell tale shuffling, and it would be too much to open the door and check.  
Guildenstern walked sideways, with his back to the fire still not looking at her. The moment of truth had come and she was already in bed. Waiting. His mental script had never included this situation, but he had tried to make some allowances for the unexpected. It didn't really affect anything, he could stand and face her instead of sitting... but it ate at him in a small way. He had been planning this too long and it was too important to allow these small details to throw him off.  
She had lain down with her eyes closed when he looked at her again. She was wearing her undergarments but there was only the slightest hint of flesh. Feeling his gaze, she opened her eyes and started to sit up. He had to speak quickly, for he was quite sure that if she stood up he would lose his nerve and run out the door. There were still guests eating, talking and drinking downstairs and would be for some time and there is little doubt that a moment of panic like that would go unnoticed and uncommented upon. He looked at the floor to avoid her eyes.  
"My lady, I have a proposal for you." The words tripped over themselves in their hurry to get out. He glanced up at her and she still looked at him steadily from her seated position. For the first time, he noticed that her hair was down. It was unnatural, he thought... out of order. He wasn't supposed to see a lady with her hair down, especially one he's just met. He had never even seen his (step)mother with her hair down. Every morning she stepped out of her room with every hair perfectly in place. It seemed more intimate than the sight of her undergarments. It was quite unnerving.  
"My lady..." he started again, but this time she interrupted him.  
"Joliana." She said correctingly.  
He was stopped by the sudden realization that he didn't even know her name. He felt embarrassed that he was too thickheaded to have even asked before. This was the final nail in his ability to speak, and the moment he realized that nothing was going to go right. It was not going to happen like the script he had in his mind. She was improvising and forcing him to improvise as well. He was not going to have it. He had this script written up in his mind for too long to change it now.  
"I know I am not an attractive man." He had not intended to say this. This was not part of the script. But he had read it in her face and spoke what he saw out loud without meaning to. Later on he supposed, he should have gone from there and extemporized instead of sticking to the script. But he was nervous, and she had a manner that he found unnerving. His script came out as a flat monotone. Words that had been written, perhaps as a summary or the introduction of a longer essay.   
"The chaste life has been espoused as the good life for centuries... Plato... Augustine...our current leaders of theology and mental and physical health..."He was losing lines, forgetting... his argument was already falling around him in huge chunks, and as long as her gaze remained on him he was going to lose more. She had a funny look on her face as if her were telling a joke that was funny, but somewhat offensive. The next part came out more easily, but very quietly - as if someone in another room were speaking and they were just overhearing it.  
"It is not too uncommon for married couples to choose physical chastity. I'm sure you must be frightened... that you must have heard stories..." She stood. "At the very least, lets take a few weeks to get comfortable with each other." His voice died away, sliding into the floorboards. It was killed by the look on her face.  
She was angry. She didn't understand. His stomach felt strangely hollow.  
"No." she said.  
"No?" She walked towards him, holding him in her gaze. There was no where to run. The only thing he could do is to not show his fear. This had never been a situation that had occurred to him. Best case, she applauded his wisdom and agreed to follow him in all things. Worst case, she agree to wait a day/week/month... or two. His mind was having a hard time even processing this new development.  
She would not allow him to have his eyes anywhere but her eyes. Her eyes handcuffed his soul and he was helpless. He was not the one in control here. He saw that now.  
Her voice seemed to travel along a wire trembling with emotion, as she said "My parents did not give me to you for you to set upon a shelf of pseudo-philosophy. It is our sacred duty to God and our parents that we reproduce. Whether or not you desire this responsibility is not my concern, but you are not going to make up excuses to get out of it." And with that she started to remove her undergarments. She did not do it in a manner that was showy, but very matter-of-factly as if she were in a room by herself, folding them carefully and setting them on a nearby chair. He didn't feel comfortable looking at her directly, but it seemed rude to look away as the act seemed to be for his benefit; so, he watched her from the corner of his eye. She lay herself out on the bed, allowing him the full visual effect of her naked body. It made his head hum with memories of paintings he had seen of women in similar positions. He didn't like it.  
"Could you please get under the covers? You're making me think of a painting I don't like." He turned away, and listened for the sound for the bedclothing creasing against itself and the frame squeaking as she moved to obey his request. Satisfied, he removed his own clothing and backed into bed covering himself quickly.  
This was not what he wanted at all. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he was sure. But here he was, and this was how it was going. He was sure there was a mistake he had made, but it would have to wait until later to be figured out. There was still hope. A small part of him held the hope that she was insisting on consummating the marriage because she was attracted to him. Perhaps even desired him.  
She trembled and he tried to smile comfortingly. He saw a look of disgust cross her face and the smile dropped off just as quickly. His attempt at loving comfort had somehow came across as a leer.  
He was told she was beautiful. Her skin was clear and unblemished - it shone with a natural pinkness. Her eyes were large and a striking colour of blue, and her features were even. He supposed that she might be considered beautiful in some ways, to some people... but to him she appeared plain. The physical aspects were there, but they missed the life that made true beauty.  
The female form was something that he had only seen hints of in real life, previously... It was rather shocking to him up close. Her skin felt thin, her shape felt unnatural... she was unpleasantly squishy in unexpected ways. He brought his lips to hers and tasted the chemical mix that created the red lips that were so admired only for a moment... before she pulled away.  
"Don't..." her face twisted slightly, fighting what could only be repulsion.  
He understood. And with that, his last hope died. This was not about touching and feeling or emotion. It was a task to be performed.  
Afterwards, as he lay next to her the act haunted him as he stared at her naked back. He fumbled around a great deal at first because he couldn't figure out why things weren't going right. "Have you not done this before?" she asked, but he didn't answer. The mocking tone made it too embarrassing to tell the truth, and to lie would be too transparent. He didn't realize until much discomfort, squealing, and watering eyes on her part that the problem was that he was not aroused.  
He thought back to when he was younger, late at night. When he used to sit at his desk, his hands flat against the wood staring into the candle that provided the only light. He would imagine that it burned away his desires much as it burned the wax of the candle. The thoughts were easily within reach, but he would not allow himself to indulge them on any level. He refused to allow himself to access them then. Now he reached for them, but everything was all wrong. Her form was wrong, her skin was wrong, even her softness was wrong. This was not what he desired those late nights. He buried himself into her neck and shoulder and focused on the muscles moving there until friction and moisture took care of things and he felt his body twitch and his breathing quicken and it was finally over.  
He didn't know what he wanted, or what he expected but none of this fit with how he had planned to start his marriage. He hoped she got pregnant quickly. He wished she would at least have allowed him the illusion of allowing him to touch her. He wished lots of things.  
He closed his eyes, and when she woke him up and told him not to fall asleep with her again he was not surprised. A more cynical man left the room than had entered it.  
---  
 


	3. I didn't wanna be singled out for the fire

_Rosencrantz was hiding from his sister._  
  
I've never been able to get the full story of how Rosencrantz knew Guildenstern before -- Guildenstern never has done anything to get anyone's attention that I know of. I just know that it started in university.  
Guildenstern was a reclusive student, who split his time between being alone and being in classes. The other students thought he was snotty. For some reason, something about Guildenstern attracted Rosencrantz. He tried to be where Guildenstern was, but as far as I've been able to discern they never were friends or even spoke.  
Yet, something Guildenstern did left a lasting impression on Rosencrantz.  
So lasting that, a few years later, when his parents were discussing marriage possibilities for his younger sister he suggested Guildenstern as a fortuitous possibility. He said he thought his sister would get along Guildenstern excellently.  
Rosencrantz rarely expressed interest in such matters, so his parents took his suggestion to heart and investigated the marriage. It was Rosencrantz who discovered the unusual arrangement that made a union between the families mutually beneficial.  
Rosencrantz had spent much of his adult life living with his married brothers and sisters as a semi-permanent houseguest, so its possible his parents thought he had enough perspective to make a passable prediction as to maritial happiness. I'm not sure that even Rosencrantz knew what he was thinking, in suggesting his baby sister should marry someone he was oddly fascinated with a few years ago. Perhaps he didn't expect to be taken so seriously.  
Nothing had prepared him for the change marriage caused in his little Joliana. Perhaps she had been wearing a mask all those years when she was a quiet and modest young lady, and she was just waiting for the freedom to take it off.  
He had merely assumed he would move in with them, of course. Just as he had with all of his siblings, passed around like a familial hot potato. The strange youngest son who didn't have quite enough money to live on his own but plenty to live with others. He had no way of guessing how things would turn out.  
 _He had a queasy feeling in his stomach -- if he were the type of person who felt guilty, that's how he would have identified it._  
What had happened between Joliana and Guildenstern on their wedding night was common household knowledge fairly quickly. Serving girls giggled behind their hands at him. Rosencrantz started to develop weird stomach problems. It never escalated to the point where he felt sick, but it bothered him.  
She always had something she expected them to do. Once, Rosencrantz quickly hid in the closet when he heard someone approaching. To his surprise that someone hid in the closet as well. They both screamed in surprise, before identifying each other.  
"Hiding from her?"  
"Of course not," Guildenstern answered in a slightly condesending stage whisper, "even a woman has to be allowed to feel like she has some control over her life. I'm just trying to save her the humilation of me telling her 'No'."  
"Me too." Rosencrantz responded.   
  
 _Guildenstern did that a lot._  
  
Guildenstern got sick again, his chronic cough of childhood returning with a vengance. At first, he attributed it to dust being stirred up by Joliana's rearranging and the exertion of helping. But it wasn't long before you could tell where he was in the house by his hacking, regardless of what else was going on. He went to the doctors, and the blood letting weakened him to the point where he needed to be confined to bed.  
  
Joliana expected Rosencrantz to help with rearranging and spending that Guildenstern had helped her with previously. So, Rosencrantz redoubled his efforts to hide from his sister, finally hitting on the idea of both hiding from her and making friends with Guildenstern at the same time by paying him a bedside visit.  
  
*******************  
  
Rosencrantz wasn't sure why he had waited so long to talk to Guildenstern. It just seemed like every time Guildenstern and he met he was somehow in Guildenstern's way and obliged to remove himself. Its difficult to make conversation with a person that you're just a barrier to. And he had nothing to talk to him about.  
But, now he had that taken care of. Another gentleman he gambled with had a "Greek manuscript" (it really appeared to be paper loosely bound between two pieces of wood with strings of leather). Rosencrantz did his best to get it, thinking that it might be something he could talk to Guildenstern about.  
He kept it a few days, imagining giving to Guildenstern. The look of pleasure on his face Rosencrantz was sure he would get at the gift. Maybe they could translate it together. Rosencrantz never came up with a particular scenario, his thinking never quite getting past "This will make him happy."  
On his way to Guildenstern's room, Joliana saw him and grabbed him by the elbow.   
"Good," she said with apparent satisfaction, "I need you to..." her eyes were dragged to his book and became large. "Where are you going with  _that_?" Her words seemed accusatory, which didn't make any sense to Rosencrantz at all.  
"I'm going to cheer him up. He must be lonely, being in bed all the time."  
She looked at him oddly, as if he were a stranger who had walked in off of the streets and into her house.  
"I told him you were my younger brother. Don't contradict me."  
This confused Rosencrantz further. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine why his sister would tell Guildenstern that he was younger than her, or, for that matter, why he would say anything to contradict that. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked to Guildenstern's room. Coughing was audible inside. Taking a deep breath, Rosencrantz walked in.  
Guildenstern had lost some weight since his confinement started; he seemed to struggle with every breath to not cough. The doctor had said he had weak lungs and that it should pass off soon. As a precaution, however, even the servants avoided his room as if he were quarantined.  
He barely lifted his head as Rosencrantz entered and fell into another coughing fit.  
"I brought you a book." That wasn't any good.   
"Leave it." Guildenstern said irritably and rolled over, coughing a few times for good measure.  
"I thought maybe we could look at it together. It must get lonely in here by yourself." Rosencrantz opened the curtains on a window to bring some light into the room.  
Guildenstern's only response was to cough violently, which Rosencrantz chose to take as assent.  
"Its supposed to be Greek. I heard you enjoyed classical works and I thought..."  
At this he sat up and looked.  
"Is that the wrestling book?" Rosencrantz really didn't even know how to begin to respond to that question. "Yes, it is. The other day, one of the maids were laughing over it. Joliana told her to mind her business. I didn't get a good look at it, but from what I saw it looked like a depiction of Greek wrestling moves. I can see why a young girl might giggle over something like that."  
"I actually haven't looked at it yet. I got it because I thought you might be interested."  
Guildenstern's eyes got wide, but he didn't say anything just yet. Rosencrantz pulled up a chair from the desk and set it next to his bedside, laying the book between them and opening it.  
  
It was more graphically intensive than Rosencrantz had suspected it would be and did appear to be wrestling moves of some sort, though it did definitely have Greek lettering on it.  
  
After flipping through a few pages (Guildenstern didn't ask him to stop so he could read anything) Rosencrantz decided to ask about something that had started to bother him.  
"Are these to scale? Because that doesn't look right, there."  
Guildenstern tried (and failed) to stifle a cough.  
"It looks like they're wrestling a snake." he choked.  
Rosencrantz turned the page, wondering why Guildenstern was so silent.  
"Oh, now there are two snakes..." Rosencrantz observed, "It looks like they each are trying to bite the snake's head off."  
Guildenstern shut the book with a snap.  
"Just what are you playing at?" he asked -- both his voice and his hands trembling with anger, shock and something else...   
"I thought this was something you'd like." Rosencrantz said weakly. He had done something very wrong, and he wasn't quite sure what, yet. That response seemed to provoke further anger.  
"You thought... I knew that books like this are often called 'Greek' but... this..."  
  
"Is something wrong?" Rosencrantz was still not quite understanding. He had done something that had upset Guildenstern, that much was clear. Now it was just a matter of observing and asking until he found out what. Something about the image of two men wrestling with snakes seemed to upset Guildenstern a great deal.  
  
Guildenstern's expression changed quickly, the trembling stilled. He was almost too calm.  
  
"I suppose I could have misunderstood the intent here." Guildenstern's eyes went to Rosencrantz cautiously, "This could well be a book of mythology... a story of Priapus or Hercules that just... looked like something else."  
With a new sense of trust, Guildenstern opened the book to a random page. This time, what was happening was unmistakeable, even to Rosencrantz.  
"Oh... they're..." he was shaken, as the realization of how this must seem came across him, "I had no idea..." After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence Rosencrantz added "It does look like a wrestling move if you look at it right."  
"Yes." Guildenstern shut the book again.  
This wasn't how he intended things to go at all.  
"What's it like?" It had slipped out before he could stop himself.  
"What?"  
Rosencrantz didn't want to finish the question and looked down. But, feeling trapped, he did.  
"Marital relations."  
He didn't look up to see Guildenstern's expression, but he refused to allow himself to feel embarrassed. It was a legitimate question.  
"It's a change of pace."  
Rosencrantz wanted to reassure Guildenstern that he wasn't some sort of sodemite. He had been working himself up to speak to him for too long to ruin it so quickly. But every word seemed to dig a deeper hole for him. 'Say something intelligent, something intellectual.' his brain said. He had a feeling that the right words would get him out of this.  
"You know, if you ever have any problems in that... not that you would... she hasn't... I mean, we could... try some of the things in the book... but you wouldn't have to... but I wouldn't judge you... and I'm sure it would translate to..."  
Rosencrantz snuck a peek at Guildenstern, who was staring at him -- his mouth agape. Rosencrantz had enough sense to stop talking. As a half-formed unspoken idea, it seemed like a suggestion for a scientific method; but when it came out of his mouth, it sounded different somehow.  
  
"I won't kick you out for my wife's sake. But don't come to my room or speak to me unnecessarily any more."  
  
"I was just trying to be friendly..." Rosencrantz said helplessly. He was so upset, it didn't even sink in that during the last part of their conversation -- Guildenstern didn't cough once.  
---  
 


	4. Start your own fire- bring the world fire

"Is something wrong with your brother?" Guildenstern asked Joliana. She had just been commenting on his sudden wellness, and he was trying to bypass the topic. Somehow, he failed.  
"Why? Did he try to solicit you or something?"  
Guildenstern was taken off guard enough to answer without answering.  
"You don't have to fear his... attentions. My brother...well... he likes attention. He will do or say whatever he can to get it. My sisters have all agreed to let him live with us because its... unlikely he's going to marry in his current financial situation. And we worry that his desire for attention might lead him to a life of immorality. There was an... incident. Nothing indecent, but I'd rather not go into it. He's not unintelligent, he's just... not normal. He has no sense. You two have that much in common."  
And the conversation moved into the usual grocery list of Guildenstern's faults and weaknesses.   
Guildenstern's head buzzed with this new information. It didn't seem to fit with Rosencrantz as he saw him... but, he had hardly said hi to him outside of one conversation.  
Had he given Rosencrantz any reason to believe that seduction was the way to get his attention? Or was it truly a misunderstanding... He pushed the thoughts out of his head. Rosencrantz was about to be moved on to Marian, his oldest sister. He wouldn't have to deal with him much longer.  
  
A few days passed without incident; then, a messenger came. It was a festival day, so he barely took the time to tell them it was for Rosencrantz before running off to join the festivities of the day.  
Joliana ordered Guildenstern to find him. There were no servants to send to do it for him, as they were all off for the festival day. But, she reassured him, Rosencrantz had a very limited life of habit. There were few places he would be.  
It had never occurred to Guildenstern to wonder where Rosencrantz went when he wasn't there. And now that he knew, he wished he didn't. The inn was cold and uninviting - particularly in contrast to the revelry outside. There was no fire for the lone customer who sat in dim candlelight eating a stew that smelled a few days old even from the doorway. As Guildenstern got closer, he noticed the customer was dipping bread that was stale to the point of almost (but not quite) being moldy into the greasy liquid. Most likely the only way to make it soft enough for consumption.  
Not at all the kind of place you'd expect to find a young man of Rosencrantz's station, particularly on a festival day. Guildenstern had almost convinced himself that it couldn't be Rosencrantz when the cloaked figure looked up and said  
"Oh, hello."  
And it was definitely Rosencrantz. Guildenstern felt something like pity at this sight, but not quite. Not pity, but not like any other feeling either.  
"Not very hospitable." Guildenstern noted, pulling his cloak a bit closer around him.  
"They're closed." Rosencrantz said after clearing his mouth of the food he was eating (Guildenstern didn't like to think of anyone actually swallowing that stuff). "But I like this place, the food has something to it that other places don't have."  
"I think that something might be rat droppings." Guildenstern murmered, barely able to disguise his disgust.  
Rosencrantz laughed, but then looked warily at the bowl of food he had been eating so heartily moments before, as if seeing it for the first time.  
"You have a message." Guildenstern said shortly, dropping the letter on the table. Rosencrantz looked at it as if he had never seen paper folded and sealed before. "Now if you'll excuse me..." He made to leave, but paused a few moments for no apparent reason at the door.  
"Wait." Rosencrantz spoke weakly, as if a bit frightened of Guildenstern's potential reaction.  
Guildenstern didn't look at the feeling too closely, but he was glad that Rosencrantz stopped him. "Sit with me. Its cold and lonely here."  
Guildenstern pushed the feeling of gratitude of being asked to stop far enough down to question him.   
"Why didn't you just eat at home or take it home then?"  
"I like the company."  
Guildenstern sat, the logic confusing him too much for him to argue further. There was a long silence. Rosencrantz didn't eat anymore and nervously pushed the soft edges of the candle towards the flame in the center.  
This was the first good look Guildenstern had gotten of his houseguest. Rosencrantz had always been more of an obstruction than a person to Guildenstern - like a small dog that wasn't his. Only there to be shoo'd away when it was on the furniture.  
At first, in the dim light, Guildenstern was amazed at how much Rosencrantz looked like his sister. But a moment later it was gone, and he decided it was the light and similarity in colouring, because Rosencrantz was much more attractive than she.  
His face was pockmarked - presumably from a childhood disease. Not disfiguring, but noticiable, even in low light. He had a pretense at a beard in the popular style. Guildenstern supposed that it still had the whispy appearance of the young, but the scratchy looking stubble along his cheeks seemed to bely that supposition.  
A thought was dismissed before it reached full fruit... a thought that he'd like to know what the stubble felt like. Under his fingers... and maybe a few other places. The thought was still there, but not actually thought... just bubbling under the surface. Expressed only by an absentminded rubbing of the rough table he sat at - feeling the bumpy scratchy wood beneath his fingers. It was quite satisfying.  
He brought his attention to the only other thing in the room.  
"That's a surprisingly good candle for this sort of establishment."  
Rosencrantz leaned close as if disclosing a secret, "Its my candle. I try to avoid tallow candles. If I can."  
This brought his mouth into light of the candle, which seemed brighter than it did when Guildenstern first came in. Rosencrantz's lips looked like they were always about to smile at a pleasant joke or happy story. Guildenstern imagined that he must have other expressions, but in a way -- he didn't want to be the person to see them. He didn't probe the feeling too closely and he shook his head to clear the thoughts on his houseguest's appearance.  
Guildenstern lay his head on his hand and looked at the wood on the table. "Its difficult to tell the difference between appearance and reality sometimes." He hadn't meant to say that, another half-formed thought that came out of his mouth when he tried to dismiss it.  
"Its better to take appearance as reality." Rosencrantz said, after considering the matter a few moments. "Far simpler. You don't have to worry about anything if you assume everything is as it appears."  
  
"But then we'd just be cavemen - watching the shadowns and believing them to be real." Guildenstern had to whip out the Plato.  
  
"If that's all you can see, isn't it better to be happy with that instead of spending your life craning to see what you will never see or know?" Guildenstern didn't speak any more. Rosencrantz's response was both reassuring and unnerving. Rosencrantz started to play with the candle with his knife. Scraping the edges of the candle and then moving his knife into the flame letting the wax melt. Cutting into the unmelted wax, watching the molten liquid fill the cuts.   
  
"Do you think fire lives and hungers?" Rosencrantz asked absently. Guildenstern looked at Rosencrantz, trying to judge whether he was having a little joke with him. But, he seemed quite serious. Guildenstern looked at him and the candle with interest and waited. "The flame... constantly searches for something to cling to. I think... I think it hungers."  
  
The both watched as the flame reached to the right - the left - and stretched straight up into the air.  
  
"That's just the draft." But Guildenstern sounded and felt unsure.  
  
"I know." Rosencrantz seemed a bit sad. "Its probably just reaching a particularly flammable bit of wax. But doesn't it seem to be saying, 'Don't estinguish me. I just want to burn. I only want to curl myself around something, and make it mine.'"  
His eyes reflected the light of the candle, and Guildenstern moved uncomfortably on the bench. He refocused on the candle and reminded himself not to get caught up.   
"Its contained for our protection." Guildenstern pointed out, a bit snappily. "If it were allowed to run rampant it would destroy the world as we know it. And it could only burn itself out because fire always changes the nature of that which feeds it. Fire uses and must be controlled, contained. Fire doesn't need our sympathy."  
Rosencrantz continued to wax sympathetic. "It looks so lonely by itself - in the middle of a candle only to be blown out once its outlived its usefulness."  
They watched the candle a bit longer. A buildup of ash on the wick caused the flame to grow and split into two flames - one on each side of the wick. One burned brightly, the other was smaller and dimmer.  
"See," Guildenstern said accusingly - though he couldn't say why he was so offended, "Now it is no longer alone and look at what its doing. The stronger flame is sucking the fire out of the weaker. It only seeks power."   
Indeed, the stronger flame did seem to increase and decrease in proportion with the smaller flame.  
"If you watch carefully," Rosencrantz said quietly, in a tone neither correcting nor disagreeable, "you can see that the smaller flame is fighting to become one with the larger. It seeks to be absorbed - it reaches out... left - right - sinking down into the wick. But the larger flame avoids it."  
"Why?" His earlier intentions aside, he had become caught up and felt like he was under an odd spell.  
"I guess... if it re-absorbed the other flame, it would be alone then, wouldn't it?"  
  
They silently watched the small drama of the split flame - with one reaching out and the other dancing and swaying away.  
  
The mood was broken by a loud banging on the door, bringing back the reality of the fact they were in a strange and cold place where they weren't necessarily welcome. They froze, but the person who caused the banging shuffled away.  
  
"It's probably something to do with the nature of fire." Guildenstern said.  
  
"I was sure you would make a reference to Prometheus at some point." Rosencrantz said with new jovilarity, as he dropped some coins on the table.  
  
"I intended to, but I couldn't think of anything appropriate." Guildenstern tried to match his happiness, but it felt forced. It didn't occur to him that it was odd that Rosencrantz knew him that well. It seemed natural, somehow.  
  
Rosencrantz mechanically blew out the flame as he picked up the candle - Guildenstern gasped without thinking. Rosencrantz frowned worriedly as he realized what he had done.   
"But I had to, didn't I?"  
"Don't worry... when you light the candle again it will be like-- reincarnation." And Rosencrantz was reassured.  
They left together, and the message was left on the table. Unopened, unread and forgotten.


	5. For the love maze for me to show you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't understand any of my chapter titles anymore but I especially don't get this one.

Rosencrantz got the skeleton key from the servants quarters. He was prepared to ask, but as no one seemed to notice him, he just took it. It didn't occur to him that Guildenstern might have locked himself inside his room for a reason. Guildenstern went out of his way to bring his message to him, even if they did forget it (if it were important, they'd write back). He needed to return the favor.  
When he opened the door, Guildenstern seemed to be in the middle of pacing. Rosencrantz's entrance had to have been unexpected, but he didn't show it - throwing words at him like a hot potato.  
"So, the question is: if fate exists (which we must assume it does for the moment), is it a free fall that only has one direction and a pre-planned ending or a maze that allows endless deviations, but only one correct course?"  
Rosencrantz was even more startled than he normally would be at this. This was the first full sentence Guildenstern had spoken to him in a week - since their talk at the tavern. He automatically looked behind him and inside the room, in case there was another person around he wasn't immediately aware of. Finding no one, he stepped in, walking as if the floorboards were rotting and might cave in at any moment, quietly closing the door behind him.  
Guildenstern continued walking briskly back and forth, staring at the floor, "Of course, we're not allowing fateful chance. That you might just be walking along, minding your own business, when a wrong step sends you down a slippery slope to oblivious. That is too random, and as a result, too alarming for consideration. It only works if we assume everything adds up to a predetermined number." He turned to Rosencrantz again, stopping. "We do have to assume that, don't we?"  
Guildenstern was looking in his direction, but he wasn't really looking  _at_  him. But Rosencrantz was fairly sure he was being addressed. He did his best:  
"Would you like a smoke?"  
"Yes, thank you." Guildenstern sat, crossing his legs and cupping his head in his hands. Guildenstern's behavior was odd, but Rosencrantz knew that he himself had been guilty of odd behavior, so he let it go.  
His hands shook as he packed the pipe. There was a strange kind of tension in room. Rosencrantz generally ignored it the best he could, because when he acknowledged it he tended to say things without thinking. But he felt it, he had felt it since he first saw Guildenstern at university. Guildenstern seemed to feel it as well, if not even more acutely. It was like a strain, a continual pulling between them that was tightening. If it was broken, it would cause lameness - not of the leg or the arm, but of the mind. Rosencrantz did his best to push it to the side as he used the fire tongs to get a coal and light the pipe. Thankfully, without dropping the coal.  
Guildenstern took the pipe as if it were handed to him by a servant. Rosencrantz pulled the desk chair next to him as he started to speak again.  
"None of it adds up. My father's first marriage led to the second (in a roundabout way), and his second marriage led to advantages and properties that made it so a marriage to your family was profitable. All of the things were set up, but nothing seems to have come of them. It's worse than not adding, its not multiplying. A dead end, all of it."  
"You two seem happy enough. Always affectionate with each other. I do hear you... arguing at night, but it makes me sorry that I ever suggested that you were any less than happy. I really am, I didn't mean to offend you. You are so similar and compliment each other so well, I don't see how things couldn't work out."  
Guildenstern didn't look at him, but rubbed the pipe in his hands before puffing on it and breathing his next words out with smoke.  
"We are too similar. Like minds butt heads, and where we aren't alike we differ too strongly. Where I stand still, she runs, where I run, she stands... Where I comprimise she stands, and well... she doesn't compromise. I can't even hit her, because I think she's stronger than me." Then, for the first time, Guildenstern seemed to realize that someone else was in the room. "How did you get in here?"  
"I took the key from the servants quarters. You got a letter..." he motioned to where he sat it on Guildenstern's desk as he packed the pipe, " and I thought you might like a smoke while you read it. I like to smoke while I read my corrospondence.." Rosencrantz wasn't allowing himself to feel what he felt at Guildenstern's words -- a mix of joyful guilt and guilty joy... but not yet...  
"Thank you." Guildenstern suddenly seemed to realize that he was holding the pipe still, and offered to Rosencrantz. Who tamped the end with his finger - burning his finger in the process. It hurt but it seemed to make the increased tension more bearable. Indeed, the tension hurt more, but the physical pain temporarily made the pressure easier to ignore.  
"Maybe I should go..." Rosencrantz suggested.  
"Yes." But Rosencrantz didn't go, and Guildenstern showed no desire to make him. Instead he asked, "Why would you just walk in? You have six older brothers and sisters, you've lived in others households your whole life.. don't you ever knock?"  
"People keep asking me that." Rosencrantz said with a sigh, "usually while throwing pillows at me... it gets disorienting and I forget."  
Guildenstern looked away again.  
"The garden isn't blooming."  
"It isn't spring, yet." Rosencrantz pointed out practically.  
"You'd expect something." Guildenstern said with irritation, "flowers budding, ready to become ripe and heavy with fruit. Everything is barren and dead."  
The room had become unbearably hot and stuffy, so Rosencrantz put his hand on the end of his pipe to put it out. Of course, all he did was burn his palm and he yelped with pain. Before he had a chance to examine the hand himself, Guildenstern had taken it. He looked that the red mark forming, and circled it with his cool fingers.  
"You don't normally smoke, do you?"  
"I do when I have someone to smoke with." Rosencrantz offered helpfully.  
"No." Guildenstern's eyes widened. "I was scared of you?" The tone seemed to be a question, with the emphasis on scared rather than you...but it was almost a statment.  
"Why... why would you be scared of me?"  
"I think you're stronger than me, as well."  
Rosencrantz shook his head. "I don't think so."  
"I could only get you if I took you by surprise." and with that Guildenstern leapt on him, pinning his chest back on the chair. Rosencrantz laughed because he should have seen it coming, but stopped slowly on seeing Guildenstern's expression. The room was definitely oppressively hot, the tension had risen to his throat and was threatening to choke him. "You could easily push me away." he seemed almost disappointed.  
"I don't think I could." Rosencrantz managed to get out, but the words sounded as tight and choked as he felt. "Strength isn't only physical."  
The tension pulled them together, binding them in a kiss that had no pretense at friendliness. It would allow nothing less, it had gotten too tight. Rosencrantz held Guildenstern pulling him closer -- then the weight change made the chair fall back, momentarily knocking the breath out of them both. The pipe fell on the floor and broke, scattering the ashes - though neither noticed.  
Guildenstern's breath was soon in his ear, their stubbly cheeks sticking together ever so slightly as they seperated nervously and stood... It seemed that might be the end of it, but then Rosencrantz saw the Greek manuscript out.   
Guildenstern followed his gaze. He seemed to want to try to explain "I couldn't stop thinking... I couldn't stop..." he didn't finish the sentence, but momentary downward glance at Rosencrantz said it for him. "I guess not all trees are fruit bearing... some trees just are."  
Then there was no more need for talking at first... just mouths and hands awkwardly touching and pulling and unexpected pleasures that made him quiver as Guildenstern's fingers explored him inside.  
Guildenstern did talk as they made love, almost frantically "The fire was already out of control... already... she started it..." and Rosencrantz might have asked him about it, but it was all too much and he forgot about it soon as the words became murmured kisses.


	6. Sunshine makes you blind

It had rained overnight, though it looked clear in the morning. The moisture covering the trees and ground could be mistaken for dew, if it weren't too late in the day. The ground threatened muddiness, but was only spongy -- adding a strange spring to your step except for the few spots of unexpected slickness.  
It was hardly as if it had rained at all... The same effect could have been achieved with a few buckets of water and a strange sense of humor.  
"You see, its all dead here." Guildenstern waved at the would-be plants as if there were actually something to show, instead of dripping beige-deadness. The tension between them was gone, and Guildenstern was being quite friendly... almost fraternal, asking Rosencrantz to stay around to keep him company during the morning meal, and then taking him out to the garden. Neither of them had mentioned the previous night, and perhaps it was just as well.  
Rosencrantz stepped further in, something that might have been a hanging ivy smacked wetly against his shoulder. It probably was quite beautiful at some point of the year -- the garden seemed a victim of poor planning and general apathy. _'Why tear the whole thing up?_   the theoretical gardener asked  _Its lovely during the spring and who wants to go out any other time?_ '  
"There has to be something..." Rosencrantz offered, yet the monochrome of beige/brown (with occasional splashes of black because of the recent rain) seemed to stretch from one wall to the other. It was only because he was watching his feet to stop himself from hitting a slick spot that he finally spotted a bit of red/green.  
They both marveled at the small unprepossessing flower that had the nerve to grow where nothing like it was sown. Perhaps the gardener had half-heartedly planted it there, on the off chance that someone might decide to go for a walk before everything had bloomed properly. Perhaps it had been dropped, and some accident of water and light allowed it to bloom. Perhaps some kindly bird dropped it, and some passing mole covered it in dirt so it would be there at that exact moment for them to see. They excitedly discussed the possibilties... Until Rosencrantz was stopped by a thought.  
"It's all alone."  
"Yes... yes..." Guildenstern was stirred to action, "We'll have one of the servants get a pot and move it inside. Then we can appreciate it properly."  
"Wouldn't it be better to just plant more flowers like it?"  
"We don't know what it is. And this isn't about planting flowers. If we put it in a pot, it will be a beauty of solitude, whereas here it is an isolated bit of foliage."  
"Maybe the gardener would know... I think you need to get a new caretaker, either way. It wouldn't be alone if we planted more."  
No..." Guildenstern put his hand to his face in frustration and slight dismay, "We have no guarentee other flowers will grow here. And even if they do, its still and isolated convoy. No, what this flower needs is solitude. Solitude is an intellectual sacrament of beauty and silence. Isolation is just being alone, even if you're surrounded by others -- the worst fate of all. Solitude is chosen; isolation isn't."  
"It's a plant." Rosencrantz responded, though there was a slight lift to the end of his sentence as though he were asking a question. There was a moment while they both shifted awkwardly, and Rosencrantz's eyes went to the sky, bringing a new question. "What do the stars say right now?"  
Guildenstern looked up, "That it is daytime."  
Rosencrantz laughed nervously. "I mean, in general... I noticed you had some books on astrology."  
"I don't believe the stars shape destinies; I thinks its an interesting way to make ourselves think differently about what's happening. See new opportunities... rethink failures. I don't know enough to figure out for myself, and I don't have enough money to have someone figure it out for me. Just a passing interest."  
"I used to be very interested in the stars. Once, I made an instrument out of old spectacle lenses... I think it worked. But when I looked in the sky, I though I saw a planet... but there was something small and round next to it that wasn't a star. I grabbed my brother, who was just coming back after a trip and told him to look." Rosencrantz picked up a branch, and bent it experimentally -- the brittle wood broke easily. "I guess in my excitement, I moved the telescope a bit. Instead of the sky, it was pointed to a neighbors window. I don't think he minded at first, but seemed to take exception when I said 'Did you see that" little round thing up there?' Everyone treated me differently after that. And neither of my brothers let me live with them." Rosencrantz's usually cheerful face became momentarily somber at the memory of the strange looks he got from his family. He wanted to ask, but somehow suspected it was better not to.  
"Things like that happen... I guess." Guildenstern said, for a lack of anything else to say and patted Rosencrantz on the back.  
He didn't cheer up immediately. "It won't be happy."  
Guildenstern, still trying to cheer Rosencrantz up, was confused. "The planet?"  
"The flower. It wouldn't be happy in a pot. It was meant to be outdoors. It will die before the other flowers bloom, therefore it has its solitude here."  
"It would adapt." Guildenstern said dismissively.  
"Yes," Rosencrantz said with sudden passion, brushing Guildenstern's friendly hand away. "It would. It would become week and frail and die... maybe it would rebloom... eventually. But it wouldn't be happy." Guildenstern pulled his hand back as if burned. His brow creased at this sudden outburst, but he didn't say anything. "Everything... everyone needs some things just to be happy. Without them you'd exist... Its not a matter of existing -- anything can exist -- but you need certain things to be happy and be truly alive. It would live, but it probably wouldn't want to."  
"Its a plant." Guildenstern said flatly. He looked at Rosencrantz penetratingly, who, having calmed down, shugged and smiled faintly. "Well, far be it from me to assign a living death to an innocent flower. Shall we go inside?"  
The garden seemed much more treacherous leaving than it had when they came in, odd slippery spots were somehow more difficult to see. Rosencrantz seemed on the verge of slipping almost constantly.   
"Don't get my shirt dirty," Guildenstern said without thinking.   
That morning, they had discovered Rosencrantz's shirt had landed on the broken pipe; it was covered in pinhole burns and ashes. Rosencrantz said it would be fine, because he did things like that to his clothing all of the time... but there were some other damage to the shirt that they both pretended to not notice, and Guildenstern decided it was better to destroy it and lend him one of his shirts,  
They retired to the house, where a servant informed them that the lady of the house had left. They already knew this, of course. For the past week or so, on occasions like this, Guildenstern pretended to work in his room, while Rosencrantz hovered outside, trying to think of a reason to bother him.  
On this particular day, though, Guildenstern suggested they play a game or two of chess. Rosencrantz lost quickly the first few games, but Guildenstern's style was formal and preplanned with little practical knowledge of the game. Rosencrantz had him cornered, and Guildenstern declared that they were in a stalemate. It didn't seem like a stalemate, but Rosencrantz had tired of playing and agreed.   
Rosencrantz put the pieces away (You lost every other game...) while Guildenstern sullenly meandered around the room.  
"What do you usually do with other people?"  
"Gamble." Rosencrantz said immediately. "You don't really lose much, as long as its a matter of genuine chance. We could bet on..." his eyes lit on the chess pieces he was putting up, but Guildenstern caught his gaze and stopped him.  
"How about the flip of a coin?" pulling one out "Tails I win, heads you lose." He flipped, but Rosencrantz grabbed it in mid-air.  
"I fell for that once, and thats enough." He smiled.  
"How many flips did it take?" Guildenstern answered his smile with one of his own. It looked strange and unnatural, but it was genuine.   
"Two... maybe three."   
So they spent the day betting on predictable household matters. If a maid who usually breaks a dish or two would break a dish. How long it would rain when it started, and if it would start again when it stopped. How many logs would be put in the fire.  
They had a full and pointless day. Guildenstern re-counted it to Joliana at the dinner table, telling her.  
"Rosencrantz had bet that when you came home, you would shake your skirts once for every two boot stamps, while I bet you would shake your skirts with every boot stamp. I wish you had told me you were buying a new dress, neither of us expected you to shake your skirts continuously while stamping your feet."  
She was never one to keep her opinions to herself, nor to remain silent while eating... but they were too involved in betting on where a fly was going to land, to notice the look she gave them under lowered lashes.  
She went straight to bed. Guildenstern did as well, but his comfortable room no longer had its comforts. It was cold and the bed felt strange, as if it weren't his own. He went to Rosencrantz's room, just for the company.  
The next morning the world was a brighter place, even considering that Rosencrantz wasn't there


	7. You've come and poisoned all the things I once set up on

Rosencrantz believed that sometimes it was wisest to act like you don't know things. If someone is bothering about things you don't want to talk about, its just easier to smile blankly... eventually they'll leave you alone. For that to really work, of course, one had to let things go when necessary. After a while, forgettting things becomes a habit.  
He didn't forget everything. He was sure of that. But as he tried to reconnect the events of the past month or two (has it been a month? more?) a lot of it was based on half remembered conversations... more a feel of what happened than any specific recollection of events. It wasn't all true... a lot of it was based on half heard arguments, odd statements, and what he liked to think about Guildenstern. It was true enough.  
Even now, he felt the events of a few hours ago slipping out of his mind... most of it he was happy to see go, but some of it he wanted to keep....

 

Guildenstern had stumbled into Rosencrantz's room looking dazed. Rosencrantz had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and saw that his eyes were still tinged with moist redness. He made no effort to hide it or rub it away. Not then.  
Guildenstern had his hand on the side of his face, as if he were sitting and thinking... but then it stuck. No, it more reminded Rosencrantz of stories about the ostrich, hiding in the dirt. It couldn't really think it was hiding, Rosencrantz reasoned, but it must have made it feel better. No... it looked more like Guildenstern had been slapped, and, unused to such treatment he still hadn't gotten over the shock. Not the pain, just the shock.  
Rosencrantz pulled himself out of his reverie -- he was being addressed.  
"Where do birds live?" Guildenstern spoke in an monotone that was both airy and dead. Rosencrantz wasn't sure if he had missed an introductory statement, or if this were all Guildenstern had to say. He didn't want to ask.  
"I suppose," he said after some consideration "they live where they land."  
Guildenstern settled himself on the edge of Rosencrantz's bed and sighed, his hand still in place -- looking oddly out of place as he made no attempt to anchor the arm... allowing his elbow to drift.  
"Yes... they fly away when you come too close... never towards you... always away. What would you do... if one landed in your hand?"  
Rosencrantz was not sure if this was a real question. It didn't have anything to do with King Hamlet's death, he supposed. And the other thing... was already slipping away. But it could only be assumed that if she had spoken to him about the other thing...  
Rosencrantz couldn't stand seeing Guildenstern's hand there one minute longer, and pushed it away from his face using one finger against the inside of his wrist. Guildenstern used the opportunity to grab his wrist violently.  
"Why are there birds? Why does fire burn? Why is yellow so difficult to find?"  
"I'm sorry." Rosencrantz gasped. It was the only thing he could think of to say... the only answer to those questions that seemed to make sense, even as it didn't. The grip on his wrist weakened. Rosencrantz brought his hand up to Guildenstern's face, and put his hand in the place where Guildenstern's had previously been. He could feel the moist flesh where the fingers had been, the prickle of stubble... "I'm sorry." Rosencrantz said again, this time truly apologizing. Guildenstern seemed a bit confused by the apology, but didn't move away. His skin was moist, but cold.  
Rosencrantz leaned forward and kissed him on the opposite cheek.  
"I'm sorry." he said again. Either Guildenstern fell back or Rosencrantz pushed him back onto the bed. Maybe it was both. It was a bit confused. There were mouths, hands and clothing so frustratingly in the way. Guildenstern felt strangely light and frail reminding Rosencrantz of the time he picked up a limed bird. The memory was disturbing, so when he felt Guildenstern's hand pressing up against his shoulder he immediately backed off. His brain was a confused mess of emotions and hormones that told him many different things all at once.

Rosencrantz didn't like what happened next, so he made up a different ending. One where he took Guildenstern back into his arms again... but the truth kept intruding, even as he tried to avoid it.

What he did was say, "I suppose, we shouldn't do anything further, because that would just be indulging ourselves wouldn't it? Not that..." Rosencrantz never got any farther than that. He couldn't continue in light of the growing look of horror on Guildenstern's face.  
"She was right..."  
Rosencrantz wanted to say that it came out wrong, that he just was trying to say what he thought Guildenstern would want him to say -- but the words didn't come together.  
It was his own fault of course... letting her believe he didn't really know what he had done. But what else was he supposed to do?  
What would Guildenstern have said if he hadn't interupted? He had never before wondered anything like that. But now he did. His mind ached with what might have been, even as Guildenstern put himself back together and hurriedly left.

The only thing to do of course, was pretend it never happened. He had a feeling that wasn't completely right, but it was right enough to sleep on, and it allowed him to keep his memories untinged... He replayed everything else in his mind again, trying to remember....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be 100% honest here - I wrote this over ten years ago and I remembered nothing from this story other than a few lines. I have no idea what is up with the chapter titles and I don't fully remember what I was going for with this ending.  
> Based on what I wrote and what I remember my intention being I think what happens is that Rosencrantz's sister confronts Rosencrantz and he plays dumb and then she turns to Guildenstern and basically accuses him of taking advantage.  
> If you get something else out of this ending, feel free to get what you get.


End file.
